


Bragging Rights

by Barbarismbeginsathome



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Domestic, High School Reunion, M/M, Nathan loves his hair, Pickles loves Nathan, anon request, just guys bein’ dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 09:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18797716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbarismbeginsathome/pseuds/Barbarismbeginsathome
Summary: Pickles hated high school. That’s what made the reunion so important.





	Bragging Rights

**Author's Note:**

> For anon! 
> 
> (Nathan being from Texas isn’t canon but it’s canon in my heart sooo)

“I thought you hated high school?” Nathan asked. 

“I did.” Pickles sat on his suitcase, trying to shove his one rumpled suit jacket inside. “That’s why we’re going. You ever hear of a thing called clout, Nate?”

“Uh...” 

“Ya know, bragging rights. The right to wave yer dick around. That’s why I wanna go. I haven’t seen any of those dildos in 25 years, it’s gonna be fuckin’ amazing to show them all how much their lives suck compared to mine, ya know?” 

“Hm. Doesn’t explain why I have to go too,” Nathan grumbled, picking at the already chipped nail polish on his thumb. Pickles finished with his suitcase and turned to face him. 

“Skwisgaar would try to fuck my old teachers, Toki didn’t even go to high school, and Murderface is a dick. That leaves you. You get what it was like, and I gotta have someone to talk to.” 

Nathan felt himself smiling before quickly correcting himself. “Cool. Do I get to uh, wave my clout around too?”

Pickles clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s one of life’s great joys, dude. Of course you can.” 

 

-  
An hour into the reunion, Nathan was starting to wonder if bragging rights were really worth it. The button down shirt the “black tie only” invitation dictated was too stiff, and the tight ponytail Pickles forced on him was giving him a headache. 

“Look, Pickles, I’m sorry to uh, rain on your parade or whatever, but this party fuckin’ blows.” 

Pickles sighed. “Yer not wrong, Nate.” He took a sip of room temperature punch and looked around the room. No one seemed to care very much that they had gone to school with the ninth richest guy in the universe (he’d googled it). There had been general niceties, a few good natured “I knew you’d be somebody” comments, but no school bullies groveling, no tearful confessions of burning crushes. 

Much to his irritation, a few people had congratulated him on “living his truth,” with pointed glances to Nathan who blushed every time. Pickles quickly corrected them, but he couldn’t pretend Nathan’s flustered face wasn’t kinda cute, at least in its own way. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” Pickles took Nathan’s arm and led him to an empty classroom off the gym. 

“They think I’m your uh... your boyfriend,” Nathan said bluntly as he tried and failed to fit into one of the tiny desks. He sat on the floor instead, back against the wall, and Pickles joined him. 

“Yeah. Think me bein’ here with a dude is more interesting than me bein’ a fuckin rock god. That’s Wisconsin for ya, I guess.” He sighed. 

“Hm. Texas isn’t much different. Not as cold, though.” 

Pickles absently reached for the rubber band holding Nathan’s hair back and pulled it away, admiring how his hair fell smoothly down his back. “How’d ya fit all this under a football helmet?” He murmured. 

Nathan shrugged. “I quit when the coach tried to make me cut it. Had a scholarship lined up and everything. I was uh... you know, not so good at school anyway, though. Not listening to him was a good call, I think.” 

Pickles stroked Nathan’s hair, thinking about the chemistry teacher who’d sent him out of class for writing Black Sabbath lyrics in his notebook and the principal who’d told him music was a waste of time. 

He raised his solo cup. “To not listening, huh dude?” Nathan lifted his own drink, a flask he’d smuggled in the pocket of his blazer. “Fuck yeah.”


End file.
